


Not Dead

by mycrofic (iceprinceofbelair)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brotherly Affection, Caring Sherlock, Coma, Gen, Holmes Brothers, Hospital, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-21 00:31:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1531343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iceprinceofbelair/pseuds/mycrofic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock returns home six months early when he hears his brother is in a coma. Post-Reichenbach AU where Mycroft doesn't know Sherlock is alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Dead

Sherlock hadn’t expected to find Mycroft’s helpless form so hurtful.

For a long time, he stands by the doorway, afraid to step any closer. But he doesn’t have long. So he swallows his nerves and tiptoes across the floor, feeling his heartbeat pounding in his chest. This isn’t like him. He shouldn’t be like this.

Carefully, he rests a hand on top of Mycroft’s and says, “If you’re even vaguely conscious in there, you’ll have deduced who I am already.”

Mycroft doesn’t move. He looks so lifeless with tubes sticking out of his body, he reminds Sherlock of the aliens he used to draw when they were kids. The ones he’d give to Mycroft in moments of childish pride only for them to be dismissed initially as feeble. The routine was always the same and Sherlock would find them on the fridge the following morning.

“A patient can be roused from a comatose state by a sudden shocking event or experience,” Sherlock quotes calmly. “Well, surprise.”

It hardly seems the time for humour but what else can be done? He sighs.

“I shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe yet. But I thought- if there was any chance I could…help. I’m not good at this. You know I’m not good at this so hurry up and open your eyes already and stop being so stupid,” he stops and takes a deep breath, attempting a smile even if Mycroft can’t see. “I’m the stupid one, remember?”

Sherlock knows it’s a slim chance. Expecting a response is as good as setting himself up for disappointment.

Hospital beds aren’t made for two people. That would rather defeat the purpose of them. But Sherlock manages to scramble into the space beside Mycroft all the same, careful not to touch any of the tubes or wires. On a good day, Sherlock could reel off the scientific names and functions of each and every one of them. But not today. Not when there are more pressing matters at hand.

“Come now, brother-dear,” he continues. If all else fails, lure Mycroft into an insult. He’d never pass up such an opportunity. This has to work. “Don’t you want to strangle me? Send me to prison for government deception? Get Mummy to send me to bed without supper? You always loved that, didn’t you?”

Still nothing. Sherlock sighs again.

“Please,” he says softly. His voice cracks and he presses a gentle kiss to Mycroft’s forehead. There has to be a way. This isn’t the end. Sherlock simply will not allow it.

He turns his gaze to the ceiling.

“It was always you,” he mutters. “You were the one everybody loved. You were smart, sophisticated, polite – everything I wasn’t. Mummy always liked you best. She didn’t say it. She didn’t have to. She always was so easy to read.”

Sherlock bites his lip as he remembers. Mycroft had always been the epitome of perfection in every aspect of his life. Teachers called him a model student; Mummy was always so proud of her perfect son. Visiting relatives would call Mycroft a gentlemen and congratulate him on his charm. Father would say, “that’s my boy,” when Mycroft won a school prize.

And then there was Sherlock. He was the problem child, the difficult one. He paid no attention in school, couldn’t make his mother proud. He wasn’t allowed to attend social functions and was instead confined to his room with a promise to be sent to bed without supper if he made himself a nuisance. He didn’t even bother showing up to prize-giving.

Everybody wanted him to be more like Mycroft. Mycroft always was the one.

“I wanted to be like you. I wanted to grow up to be just like my big brother because I thought-” Sherlock pauses and swallows uncertainly. “I thought you were amazing. Everybody thought you were amazing.”

Sherlock sniffles and he can almost hear Mycroft muttering, “sentiment,” with a tone of utter distaste.

“Sentiment,” he says himself instead because, if Mycroft can’t degrade him, he’ll just have to do it for him. “I- I don’t know what I would do without you, Mycroft. I-”

Breathe. _I love you._

“Your loss would break my heart.”

Sherlock squeezes his eyes tight shut. He has to leave but this might possibly be the last time he ever sees his big brother and he needs a moment. He doesn’t have time.

One glance over is all it takes. Mycroft’s eyes are open and his face is damp with what Sherlock would call tears if he had ever seen such a phenomenon from Mycroft before. Surely not. Honestly, he’s so overwhelmed by a rush of unfamiliar emotion at this point that he doesn’t take the time to process it and instead drops a hand into Mycroft’s hair and unleashes a choked sob.

“You’re so-” he begins but he can’t find it in himself to be angry and the intended insult carries no weight when it finally tumbles out. “You’re so stupid.”

Mycroft’s lips twitch and Sherlock knows he’s done the right thing. Because, for all his power and intelligence and skill, Mycroft didn’t know until Sherlock places his calloused hand against his skin. Cautiously, Sherlock ducks his head to kiss Mycroft’s cheek again and is surprised when he’s met with no resistance. He stands.

“Six months. That’s all I need and I’ll be back to bother you,” he adds and he finds his brother’s hand one more time to give it a gentle squeeze. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Without another word, he presses the button to summon the nurse and sweeps from the room.

**Author's Note:**

> I had an idea and it wouldn't leave me alone. My exams start tomorrow though so I don't think I'll be writing for a bit.


End file.
